Nietzsche Was a Blogger

I know, I know; Nietzsche would hate being called this, but hear me out.

Because the internet is systematically making us dumber via training us to prefer our information in bite-sized pieces (see here), the task of the blogger is to say as much as possible in a matchbox of space. Every word must count; every thought must be clearly -- and, in the best-case scenario, beautifully -- expressed.

The other day, I was talking to my good friend (and Nietzsche scholar) about this curious and intellectually challenging enterprise. He said "Well, you know, that's essentially what Nietzsche was going for in his aphoristic style." But, he pointed out, the problem with such a pithy, aphoristic format is that it makes the author extremely susceptible to being misunderstood.

Indeed.

I'm not sure what to say about this latter fact, but I will say that with such a forefather in our lineage, practitioners of our craft (that is, blogging) have much to live up to and, in my opinion, change.

Philosophers' Clothes: Nietzsche II

In another excerpt from his bio, R.J. Hollingdale reports that:

[Nietzsche's] appearance during the ten years he was in Basel excited comment because of his excessive attention to dress, amounting almost to dandyism...he was, apart from an old state counsellor from Baden, the only man in Basel to wear a grey topper. [p. 49]

Interestingly, Hollingdale also quotes one of Nietzsche's students who noticed his snazzy duds but nevertheless observed that "his whole personality expressed nothing less than indifference to whatever external impression he might be making."

So, was Nietzsche a pretty boy or was he uninterested in looking good for others? The answer, it turns out, might be both. Hollingdale says that even though Nietzsche was always decked out to the nines, "by 1875 dressing well was probably a habit rather than a conscious effort."

This sounds right to me and I think it's both interesting and important. When one begins to formulate a philosophical approach to attire (something I'm convinced Nietzsche had), obsession with clothes is, I think, inevitable. This has certainly been the case for me. Not long ago, I thought, "I really don't want to be thinking about clothes this much."

Now, however, I can feel the obsession fading because there's not much to think about anymore. I've already figured out which types of clothing help me become who I want to be and which ones just encourage vanity or sloppiness. Furthermore, people in my life have gotten used to the way I dress and no longer need it explained to them. And the philosophical constraints that spawned my style in the first place don't afford much room for reinventing it. The details are also becoming second nature: Matching parts is getting easier and, at this point, I pick the day's tie and knot without much deliberation and usually have it around my neck in under a minute, no mirror.

So while it's true that being philosophical about clothes involves some initial fixation on fashion, it subsides as the sartorial philosophy takes shape. For those who aren't happy "just wearing whatever," I find this temporary obsession a welcome alternative to the mania that goes with searching for flashy or entertaining clothes, which never ends because the entertainment a garment provides evaporates at the same rate as its novelty.

Previous Philosophers' Clothes posts: Nietzsche

Philosophers' Clothes: Nietzsche

Here is the first in a series of posts I'll be doing on philosophers and clothing, devoted either to a story about a given philosopher's sartorial tendencies or to a comment one of them made about attire or fashion. Here then is a biographical vignette from Nietzsche: The Man and His Philosophy, by the well-known Nietzsche biographer and scholar, R.J. Hollingdale. It recounts the philosopher's preparation as he anticipates meeting Wagner for the first time (on November 8th, 1868):

Thinking there would be a large gathering, Nietzsche visited his tailor, who, as it happened, had promised to have an evening suit for him that very day. The suit was not quite ready, and he was promised it in three-quarters of an hour; when he went back, it was still not ready, and it was at last presented to him at half past six. With it came a bill, which the tailor's assistant demanded should be met before he would part with the suit. Nietzsche hadn't enough money on him - or in his possession very likely - and tried to put the suit on (he had taken his own off to try the new one on for size); a struggle ensued in which the tailor proved the victor; he disappeared, taking the suit with him, and Nietzsche stormed out into the pouring rain, fearful that by now he would be late for his appointment and hoping his old clothes would do. As it turned out, there was no large gathering: just the Brockhaus family, Nietzsche and Windisch, and Wagner. [pg. 40]

Hollingdale goes on to say that the evening went very well. Wagner played the piano and he and Nietzsche had a long discussion about Schopenhauer. Then, at the end of the visit, Wagner invited him back for more music and philosophy. The moral of the story (for our purposes, anyway): Take your costume seriously, but not too seriously.